


Love's Not Time's Fool

by KisstheRainWriting



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: A single cuss is uttered, Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fightin and flirtin, Jealous Doctor (Doctor Who), Jealous Tenth Doctor, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Romance, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KisstheRainWriting/pseuds/KisstheRainWriting
Summary: When you meet Shakespeare (The Shakespeare), your banter turns flirtatious, and the Doctor sulks up a storm.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Reader, The Doctor (Doctor Who) & Reader, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 143





	Love's Not Time's Fool

“To be or not to be, that is the question…”

“At what point does brilliant just become really, really self-indulgent?” the Doctor asked, barely under his breath.

You shushed him without even a glance his way. He sunk into his trench coat, the collar rising to his chin, his body scrunching into one very sulky ball.

“Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…”

The Doctor snorted. “I’ll give him relatability. Definitely one for suffering right now.”

You continued to ignore him, and his eyes narrowed as they scanned your face. Enraptured. You were enraptured. Over two hours of this, and you still looked like you’d won the intergalactic lottery (figure of speech, hadn’t had one of those since the Tarmeraneans bankrupted their planet in 1042).

He huffed.

“Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He scowled as you hushed him again. “He’s going to recite the whole bloody play.”

“...To Die… to sleep… no more…”

“William Shakespeare is reciting Hamlet,” Your words were muffled with barely-suppressed glee. “ _Hamlet_. William. Shakespeare.”

“Yeah…” the Doctor trailed off, sounding uncharacteristically bored. “Bit on the head, isn’t it?”

“And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry,” the Bard eventually finished, lowering his head and raising a clenched, shaking fist, “And lose the name of action.”

You began clapping, of all things, along with the rest of the tavern, and the Doctor less-than-enthusiastically joined you, bringing his hands together slowly once or twice.

“That was amazing,” you said— _gushed_ , more accurately, your smile bigger than the Doctor had seen it in a while.

Shakespeare jumped down from the table and picked up his tankard, returning to his seat across from you. He didn’t seem at all exhausted from his recent adventure with you and the Doctor, which had involved an alien species the locals had mistaken for faeries and an absurd amount of mistaken identities and swapped outfits. The Doctor wasn’t fully sure he was even wearing his own underwear, now. 

Shakespeare nodded his thanks. “I may not act as much as I used to, but I suppose that it’s still in me yet. I hope you liked it, Doctor.”

“Meh,” the Doctor made pointed eye contact with the tavern wall. “More of a Henry Irving fan myself.”

You spoke again before Will could register the lackluster response, and the Doctor rolled his eyes. Your hands were still clasped together, your entire body leaned forward across the table, every nerve in you attentive and buzzing. “I just still can’t believe I’m here, talking with you.”

Shakespeare leaned forward, too far forward for the Doctor’s liking. He wondered how you handled the overwhelming smell of the English Renaissance. “And I have trouble believing Fate has brought the Doctor to me again.” Shakespeare’s mouth quirked upward into a rakish smirk. “And with such an enchanting woman, no less.”

“Well, she’s not exactly gift-wrapped.” The Doctor’s eyes narrowed.

You ignored him, cheeks flushed. “I’m just a really, really big fan of your work. It’s just all so good, if you’ll forgive the understatement. It’s iconic. Like ‘to be or not to be.’ Everyone knows it, in hundreds of languages, probably on different planets.”

The Bard grinned. “How about ‘My kingdom for—’”

“A horse,” you interrupted. The Doctor’s jaw tightened. You were making that adorable annoying face you often made, the one where your gaze became impossibly intent, like you were rising to a challenge, your eyes sharp and your mouth stretching into the smallest of grins, proud and looking for approval. And it was all focused on Stratford-upon-Avon’s biggest prick.

“Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness—” Shakespeare began, one daring eyebrow raised. 

“And some have greatness thrust upon them,” you finished. That little grin kept growing.

“What’s in a name?”

“That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Shakespeare’s gaze flickered across your face, eyes bright and lingering a little longer than necessary, oblivious that the Doctor was boring holes into his skull. His voice lowered. “May I lie in your lap?”

The conversation skipped a beat. Then you bit your lip, still smiling. “Would I be getting your second best bed,” you quipped, your voice dropping to match his, “or your very best?”

The Doctor stood up, his hand hitting the table, his chair scraping hard against the floor.

The tables nearby fell silent. You and Shakespeare sprung away from each other. “Doctor?” Will asked, also rising to his feet. 

“All right,” the Doctor said loudly, ignoring the question. His face had darkened, and his mouth was pulled into a painfully tight smile. “We’d best be off. So much of time and space, surprisingly little time. And not enough space. I’d say you know how it is, but you don’t. So great seeing you, have fun with your next decade-ish, parting is such sweet sorrow, all of that. Say hi to the wife and kids for us, whenever it is you actually see them. Good-bye.”

Coat flapping, he stalked out of the tavern, leaving you to gape at where he’d been standing—looming—.5 seconds earlier. You pushed your chair back. “I’m so sorry. Let me just—”

William Shakespeare watched, brow knitted in concern, as you chased after the Doctor.

You burst out of the tavern, jogging to reach where the Doctor had finally stopped to wait for you. He was pacing, hands shoved into his coat pockets. When he heard your footsteps, he looked up. His lips were pressed into an impossibly thin line.

Your cheeks were still flushed from the heat of the tavern, and your breath was visible in the cool autumn air. “What the hell was that?”

“Me?” His voice rose to an incredulous pitch. “What the hell was all of that?” he asked, waving his finger between you and the bar.

“I think that was you running out on us to sulk.” Your hands had made their way onto your hips, and your chin was jutting out stubbornly. He hated how much, even now, as frustrated as he was, he wanted to grasp your chin between his fingers and tilt your face up toward—

The Doctor shook his head, his hair becoming even messier. “I’m brooding, not sulking, there’s a very pointed difference.”

“Oh, honestly,” you snapped. “It was your idea to come here in the first place, and you’ve been acting childishly the entire night.”

He huffed, jaw clenching and unclenching. “If I’d known you were going to become the founding president of the man’s fan club—”

“You, what, wouldn’t have taken me to meet Shakespeare? _The_ Shakespeare?”

“Ugh, no,” he shoved his hands back deep into his pockets and tilted his head upward, as if trying to make long-suffering eye-contact with the universe. “Don’t inflect like that, you’ll only encourage him.”

“He’s pretty much the greatest writer in the English language. He’s kind of allowed to be smug about it.”

The Doctor’s gaze moved down to you. “But he’s not allowed to—” He broke off, chewing fitfully at the inside of his cheek.

“Not allowed to what?” You stepped closer, you hand reaching out to gently touch his arm. The Doctor flinched, but his hand snaked upward to press against the back of your own. You wet your lips. “Doctor?”

He watched you for a hard moment, eyes unable to leave yours, then finally opened his mouth to reply—

“Doctor!”

The Doctor’s face tensed at Shakespeare’s voice, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Oh, _for God’s sake_.”

Shakespeare crossed the street. The man had one of the most expressive faces you’d ever seen. You’d noticed during his recitation, but it was even more apparent now, concern and guilt and apology written in deft strokes. He glanced at you before looking to the Doctor. “I misunderstood. Forgive the idle fancies of an unseeing man.

“In my eagerness to impress and be impressed, even in our adventures this day, I did not pay your eyes any attention,” Shakespeare continued, slightly breathless in his sincerity. “I’d have known, then, and would not have spoken as I did. To come between you and your lady would bring no joy.” Shakespeare briefly lifted his hand to clasp where the Doctor’s hand was still pressed to yours. “May I not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.”

Automatically, eyes still on the Doctor’s face, you whispered, “Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove.”

The Doctor’s face dropped from annoyed to blank, and you dropped your hand, regretting what you’d said immediately. The unspoken nearly spoken. You found yourself caught in his eyes, which were molten brown and burning with something you couldn’t identify and that scared you.

Neither of you corrected Shakespeare. The verse hung in the air between you like the fog from your breath.

The Bard looked thoughtful. “A fine phrase, my lady. Might I borrow it?”

You jolted out of the Doctor’s stare. “Oh, shit.”

“An even finer phrase.” A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. “Am I to assume that the prior was my own?”

You risked a glance at the Doctor. “The universe isn’t going to implode, right?”

The Doctor’s eyes softened, and he inhaled. When he breathed out, his whole demeanor changed, becoming brighter, teasing. “One of the world’s most talented plagiarists. I’m sure the universe won’t mind being infringed on just a bit.”

Shakespeare’s shoulders lifted. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Yeah, sorry about…” the Doctor trailed off. He stopped. He stuck out his hand for Shakespeare to shake. “You take care, Will Shakespeare.”

Shakespeare ignored the Doctor’s hand and pulled him into a hug, thumping his back. “And you.”

When he pulled back, the Doctor attempted an embarrassed smile. “Oh, we’ll be back.” He tilted his head toward you, sounding completely composed, and you wondered if he’d somehow erased the past five minutes. “This one’ll want to see the Scottish play. We’ll be there, front and center.”

“The Scottish play?” Shakespeare repeated, his face brightening into a grin. “You are the master of intrigue, Doctor, and you play your game well.”

“Not half as well as you play yours,” the Doctor replied.

Shakespeare turned to you, lifted your hand, but didn’t kiss your knuckles. Instead he just held it with a friendly warmth. “Protect our Doctor, my dear lady. I fear there will be tempests waiting for you yet.” His eyes lightened. “But never have I met man or woman more capable, I think, than the one before me.”

He released your hand, turning the motion into a slight bow. When he looked back up, he was wearing his signature half-crooked smile. “Until Fate unites us again.”

You waved as the Bard strolled off down the streets of London, watching as Shakespeare turned a street corner and disappeared from sight.

The Doctor began shuffling back toward where you’d parked the TARDIS. As you came closer to the blue box, he broke the silence, “All’s Well That Ends Well, I suppose.”

The sheer cheesiness of the joke startled a laugh out of you. “Probably for the best. Would have been awkward to part on bad terms with _the_ William Shakespeare.”

The Doctor hummed in agreement, watching you from the corner of his eye. He nearly said your name, but he didn't know what he’d do after that. Confront you? Apologize to you? Lecture you? Pull you in close to him, your body flush to his and your eyes wide and bright in the dark--

You rapped your knuckles lightly on the TARDIS door and gently pulled the doors back as she unlocked for you.

The Doctor looked back toward the road Shakespeare had disappeared down. “He’s one of the most brilliant, most talented men I’ve ever met.”

You followed the Doctor’s gaze. Feeling just bold enough, you leaned forward and lifted to the tips of your toes to press a quick kiss to the Doctor’s cheek. You kept your voice nonchalant. “I’ve met cleverer.”

You stepped into the TARDIS, stomach warm and clenched into knots, your hands a little shaky, Shakespeare’s sonnet still in your head.

The Doctor lingered outside the TARDIS. “‘It is the star to every wandering bark,’” he breathed, “‘whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.’” The Doctor pressed his fingertips to his cheek, where the feeling of your lips still set his nerves on fire.

He let himself grin, brushing off the doubt and insecurity and wariness and that constant ache, just for a moment. “Still got it.”

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO OLD AS DIRT. Cleaned it up a little bit so that I could post it here for the first time. Hopefully it still reads okay. I’m trying to alternate between new pieces and old Deviantart pieces--hopefully past readers (this sounds Grandiose but I know it’s like seven people, don’t worry, my head is a normal size) won’t get too bored. (seriously, though, everyone from Back in the Day who has reached out to me, I get really sentimental every time I get these messages, and I’m so so glad y’all are still here, thank you)
> 
> Shakespeare! Jealousy! The course of true love never did run smooth! Yadayadayada. Let me know if you liked it! Let me know what your fave Shakespeare play is! I like talking with y’all and I have no idea what level of engagement people want from fic writers these days. At what point am I just needy? I don’t know. I hope you’re well ♥


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